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Amanda Apr 2019
to think that your first hard grip on my wrist wouldn't be the last

to think that i don't know what love should taste like

to think that your yells were out of care

to think that my hurt felt like home.

my home was hurt because you supplied it

your voice brought me back down to the earth

the bitter taste at the tip of my tongue was a gift from you

your hands a reminder of where exactly I belonged
Amanda Apr 2019
I saw your eyes for the first time in a year

and for once my heart did not stutter

yet I returned home and washed the sheets

merely to rid myself of clutter.
Amanda Mar 2019
you are seventeen and he is younger but so much bigger. you feel like a doll in his palm. you are unaware that his hands between your legs is a contract. He lays you down on your back, and you turn your heard to the TV. Moana is playing.

2. he pulls you to his chest and you whisper, "promise me I won't regret it." he smiles and kisses your forehead. the next day, he tells you he doesn't know if he loves you or not. you regret it.

3. you are almost asleep and his hands keep wandering. you close your eyes tighter. you wish you were dead.

4. he tells you that you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but you know that it's the only way to keep him from leaving. Afterwards, he wipes the tears from your chin and holds you close to his heart, so gentle and soft. you almost feel at home.

5. he leaves. You have to begin picking up the pieces somewhere but you never really find out where to start. a year passes. It has been twelve months of rain but the sun begins to peak out behind its curtain of clouds. you rest.
four stories about it and one about after.
Amanda Jan 2019
1
i feel quite insignificant

like a small, frail, broken-winged bird

cradled in the hand of a man who does not know I am fragile

i am made of glass and ribbons which bind my feet to this wretched earth

they are chains around my beaten ankles

my sin is the floor beneath where I stand.

my wings were once whole, beautiful, unbroken things

but he held them too tightly

they crumbled in his hands

into dust
Amanda Jan 2019
I can wash my bedsheets a thousand times and yet this bed is no longer ******* mine
Amanda Nov 2017
i can't write anymore.
i go fishing for words in a dried up lake
and lose the thoughts at the sight of you.
you.
you envelop even the empty spaces, of course
when i can't write i think of you.
i think it's because I know it will never be as beautiful.

this will be my downfall
the thunder in my head
has struck the trees
and the leaves
fall to the ground
from its quake.

it disrupts every
******* aspect of my
life. my spine
shakes at your power,
my shoulders slump
at your warmth. your
hands have stripped every part of my
identity. you rebuild
me again. I cannot
write because your eyes
don't allow me.
your lips are
my prison and my liberation

your hand around my throat is your claim and my closure
i know you never wanted to posses my and my ***** soul
but truly i am nothing without your tightening grip
just a pet to your words your voice your body
yours.
it is all I am.
I cannot write for I am no long a being.
Just the creation of a God.
just a babydoll who listens
a girl who obeys
a child with closed eyes

is this love
or is this rebirth
im a little ****** up over this
Amanda Sep 2017
i did not know the breath in my lungs would stop

i guess the funny part is i kind of like the burn

i like the self destruction

the pain and the wounds

i never realized the poison that seeps from my skin would get to me too

you see god had made me pure

but i dipped my hands into the liquor of the devil

and for that i had to endure

six years of pain, twelve more of self infliction

i never realized it was an addiction


but


my lungs are so ******* empty

they inhale the toxins of my past mistakes

the love and passion and trust i dropped in the mud

i inhale purity (not mine of course)

i exhale poison (it stems from my core)

always poison

always poison

i am poison

i have poisoned you

but don't worry

it'll always get to me first
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